


Decade

by arcapelago (arcanewinter)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanewinter/pseuds/arcapelago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For ten years, Roy and Hughes have fallen deeper into guilt, and their release from it is bittersweet. This is a story told in 10 parts, each one year before the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decade

**Author's Note:**

> This was also an entry to the Yaoi-con 2008 Fiction Contest under the theme of "countdown."

10

It's only been a few days since Lt. Col. Maes Hughes was found, but Roy Mustang needed only that long to project what the rest of his life might feel like. His 29 years shrink to almost nothing under the weight. An aimless desire for revenge makes his hands twitch emptily at his sides: if he only had a target; if he only knew the name. The war taught him how to raise his hand against his enemies, how to stamp down the unjust reality of human against human. He often wishes he'd never learned such a lesson, that he'd never lost sight of his own humanity in Ishbal, but he doesn't wish it today. Today he wishes only for a direction to send his wrath. He is thankful that he is the Flame Alchemist. Someone deserves to burn.

The mourners have mostly retreated, but one approaches to stand silently at his side, gazing at the stone as he does. He doesn't need to look up to know her. They are paralleled in ways that can't be said aloud. Though she his wife and he his best friend, they both knew Maes Hughes in the same way. They both know how he laughed, how he worried, how he smiled, how he kissed. They both know the great extent to which the man loved, and they've known it for many separate years.

But only one of them has the greater right to stay; only one would be venerable in the public eye, military or civil. Roy touches the brim of his hat in a gesture and turns to give them the privacy he's always depended on.

"Colonel--"

He stops when she does. He hates what this means for her, for her daughter. He hates that he knows some part of what she feels, that he knew her husband in ways he shouldn't have. He hates that he's willing to set aside their plan for peace in Amestris to avenge him.

But he turns back. He lifts his eyes to hers, keeping hidden what is hers to show. She attempts a smile that threatens to break him, but her eyes, though wet, are steady.

"Colonel, there's something I want to tell you."

 

9

Though just 28, Roy is drowsy beyond his years, and a knock at the door causes him to stifle his own yawn with a grumble. Retying the robe he'd been about to discard, he traces a path of lamps from his bedroom to the door of his apartment and pulls it open.

"Roy! Thank God."

Roy stares bleary-eyed for a moment before he moves to close the door again, but as expected, the bespectacled visitor blocks him, and Roy finally rolls to the door's frame to allow him entrance. He rubs the corners of his eyes, opening them again unwillingly.

"Hughes, what are you doing here?"

Maes Hughes shuts the door behind him and turns, sharp eyes inspecting his friend. "You didn't answer your telephone."

"Yes, I did. And we spoke at length about--"

"No, after that."

Roy frowns momentarily, his exhaustion dogging his thoughts. "Mm, I was in the bath."

"For two hours?"

Roy glares, then sighs as he pushes himself from the wall in an attempt to be less asleep. "Anyway, what did you want?"

It's only now that Hughes loses his chiseled expression of concern and smiles. He seems more himself. "Wasn't important. I just got worried when you didn't answer."

"So you got on a train at ten o'clock at night just to check on me?"

Hughes counters the reproach with a grim frown. "These are targeted murders, Roy. I told you--"

"--that I have to be careful. I know." Roy smiles slightly. This is typical Hughes: protective and selfless to a fault. Roy knows he should be more grateful, but--

"So you're really all right?" Hughes asks, stepping forward abruptly to pull open Roy's robe, his hands inspecting the bared skin of his stomach and sides.

Roy laughs before he can cover his mouth, and Hughes stops with a chuckle of his own, staying close enough to slide his palms to Roy's less-ticklish back.

"I hate it when you make me do that," Roy scolds, but his voice is quiet, almost sly at this proximity.

Hughes smiles a little smugly. "But I love it when you make me do this."

Hughes tightens his arms as he steps closer, and Roy tips his head involuntarily, eyes drifting nearly closed. His lips part under the feel of Hughes' breath, gentle as he draws Roy's to stillness. When he kisses him, Roy lets his tongue slip in past his teeth before responding, meeting it rather sleepily, arms threading up over his shoulders to anchor him as he presses further into the kiss.

He can't be sure how Hughes does what he does. Though a scientist with unfettered access to each cause and effect, he's never been able to pinpoint the exact method, or the precise moment at which Hughes must support his weight. But with humbling predictability, he is rendered defenseless in the man's presence, and he is many years beyond protest.

Roy rests his chin against the roughness of the scant beard along his jaw. "So what did you tell Gracia?"

"The truth."

Roy lifts his head to find Hughes' eyes, waiting for clarification.

Though Hughes smiles, he looks down. "I told her I was worried and that I needed to know."

"And she didn't bring you back down to earth?"

"She told me to look after you and that she'd see me in the morning."

Roy scoffs quietly, shaking his head. "I'm fully an adult, Hughes. And I went through the same combat training you did."

"Makes no difference."

Roy pulls back to look sternly at him, but this, too, makes no difference. "So you're here for the night, then?"

Hughes cocks a smile in response, one slender eyebrow lifting in affirmation.

Shaking his head, Roy can't help but smile back, one hand clicking off the lamps on the way to bed, the other pulling Hughes behind him.

* * *

The sun is barely risen when the train back to Central City pulls into the station, but both are properly dressed in full uniform and as alert as can be expected. Hughes continues to scan the crowded platform for any sign of an unfriendly face, and Roy, though grudgingly, does the same.

Hughes sighs as he turns to Roy, scratching the back of his head.

"It's only a matter of time before Scar moves on to the State Alchemists in East City, you know, and you're at the top of that list."

"I'm flattered."

But Hughes isn't amused when Roy glances toward him. "And I'll be prepared," he adds quietly.

"And Ed?"

Roy frowns lightly, scanning the faces exiting the train. "Honestly, you should be less worried about him." Edward Elric's arrogance, while completely insufferable, is also completely justified. He is an unlikely genius, a prodigy of considerable ability.

"He's still just a kid."

Roy returns his gaze to Hughes, silent for a moment. He could disagree. He could mention everything the Fullmetal Alchemist has been through, the trials and hardships and utter skill that convinced Roy to recruit an alchemist of his age, but he knows it is irrelevant.

"I know, Hughes."

Hughes nods. He rummages in his pocket for his ticket, then steps toward the emptied train. "Pick up next time, Roy."

 

8

A 27-year-old officer of Roy's rank with no apparent interest in dating is more a curiosity than a candidate when it comes time for promotions. Though he knows this, he does not suffer it quietly.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into these things," Roy mutters under his breath, but Hughes hears him over the running water in the restroom.

"I don't know why you're complaining," Hughes responds, joining him at the sink and nudging him in the ribs. "She's practically in love with you."

"Precisely." Roy looks up with a scowl, but it's lost on Hughes, who dries his hands on a towel before holding it out for Roy.

"Look, you've got to show interest in _somebody_ , right?"

Roy sighs primly and nods, drying his hands. He can't afford to tempt the military's disdain.

"Well, so long as she's here in Central," Hughes explains, "and you're over there in East, you can make up all the excuses you want not to take her out."

Roy's brows remain dubious.

"And when you do take the train to see her," he continues with a lower tone, "you'll be in the neighborhood to drop by, right?"

"Hughes, don't tell me you developed this ploy at that girl's expense."

Laughing quietly, Hughes takes the towel back before Roy can hit him with it. "It was mostly Gracia's idea. She said she had a cousin who loved military men but didn't have much time for dating, and did I think Colonel Mustang would be interested?" He tosses the towel to the sink. "It works out, Roy."

Roy scowls again, but with less enthusiasm. He isn't in the mood to reject any logic that brings them closer more often. "All right, you win. Now let's go before they--"

But Hughes silences him with a fluid step in his direction and one arm to keep him still. Roy glances behind him just enough to see Hughes' hand at the handle of the door to keep it closed. "Hughes--"

"Just a few more seconds," Hughes murmurs, the words barely audible against Roy's lips.

* * *

"We're sorry to keep you waiting," Roy announces, knowing his smile will erase any misgivings.

"Not at all," Gracia answers with a pleased smile of her own from beside the dark-haired girl. "I was just showing Valerie the necklace Maes gave me for my birthday. You don't mind swapping places for now, do you, darling?"

"As long as I'm not too far away." Hughes' grin is sincere as he bends over the table to kiss his wife, and he takes the seat next to Roy as requested. Roy does his best not to notice the warmth of his thigh against his leg.

"Valerie, the lieutenant colonel tells me you run a hat shop," Roy offers, and Valerie looks up from the necklace with a pleasant, likable smile.

"Oh, yes! It keeps me so busy it's hard to find time for anything else." She folds her hands as though suddenly conscious of them, but her conversation flows. "My uncle left it to me when he was badly injured in the war."

"I'm sorry to hear that". His sympathy, while genuine, is restrained. He feels Hughes' leg tense against his.

"It's the same for so many," Valerie answers, her voice dodging the concern. "Were you in the war, colonel?"

"I can't say I was." Roy's smile is unfaltering. "But my hands were busy. War generates so much paperwork."

Valerie nods politely.

 

7

Roy lifts his glass for what could be the twentieth congratulation tonight, but neither minds the additional cheer. Both are happy, both are drunk, both are just 26.

"I just wish I could have been there," Hughes laments, emptying the contents of his glass and waving for another.

"I've heard plenty of men wish they hadn't," Roy counters. "But maybe next time."

Hughes doesn't seem to hear him. He has that look in his eyes again, a sort of wonder that becomes him. Life permitting, he should have been a father earlier and several times over. "She's so perfect, though, Roy. Everything about her--the tiniest things you never thought about before. I thought the day I got married would be the happiest day of my life, but this . . ."

Roy smiles to himself, setting his drink on the bar and toying with its rim. "Congratulations, Maes."

Hughes looks up at him, his smile changing subtly, though it is no less grateful than before. "Thanks, buddy." He nods to the bartender with the arrival of his next beer, but he turns from it to face Roy.

"I heard you've got a new little one of your own, too."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The alchemy kid. Passed the exam, didn't he?"

"Oh, the Elric boy." Roy smirks at the poor joke before he takes up his glass to sip from it. "I invite you to call him 'little' when you see him."

Hughes chuckles into his drink. "What _should_ I call him? You State Alchemists love your titles."

"He's the 'Fullmetal' Alchemist."

"Heavy name."

"That's what he said. But if I know you, you'll call him Ed until he's a general."

"Isn't he a major already? Might not be too long from now."

Roy smirks faintly, watching the last of his ice melt. "He's not the pandering type. He just needs the privileges. I just need the recognition for finding him."

"And the good luck not to send him to war."

Roy looks up at the sobering remark, but his friend is more sympathetic than his words.

"That's why I need the recognition," Roy replies. "To make sure we stay lucky."

Hughes sighs with a nod, sipping through the froth of his beer. "Still, to get involved at his age. He's only twelve."

Roy frowns with the unnecessary reminder, but knows it won't take much effort to change the subject. "Are you sure you should still be out?"

"Not sure." Hughes nearly pouts over his drink. "Gracia told me to go celebrate so Elysia could get some sleep. How much do you think she needs?"

"I hear infants need a great deal."

"Really?" Hughes frowns with some distress.

"So it seems," Roy answers, clapping him on the back for support.

"Well, shoot."

 

6

Roy tosses his hat on the bed of the hotel room as Hughes closes the door, having driven him. It's been a long and exhausting night for a 25-year-old, filled with perfect mannerisms, flawless formality, and just the right amount of concession to his superiors, all while in dress uniform.

Facing the mirror, he reaches to unfasten the irritating button at his neck, but Hughes reaches to stop him, turning him again.

"I haven't got to look at you, yet."

Roy smirks tiredly. "You've been able to look at me all night."

"Not like this," Hughes answers, preoccupied, and even with his dulled senses Roy can detect the greater degree of lascivious interest. "It looks good on you, Roy."

"Hughes, you have one just like this."

"No, not quite," he counters, and his fingers brush the left side of Roy's chest to indicate the ribbons and medals of rank and accomplishment. "We're getting closer," he murmurs.

Roy nods, but stays quiet. Closer to the top. He's been praised enough tonight to last him years, but his pride is in constant check, if it can be called pride at all. Still, at 25, he is the youngest of his rank, and he's attracted the attention of the people who matter. He has hope for Amestris.

Hughes has wandered close enough for Roy to smell the remains of his cologne. He can feel his touch on the new epaulets on his shoulders.

"So," Hughes murmurs, "can I be the first?"

Roy yawns noisily. "The first to what?"

"Call you 'colonel' in bed."

Roy starts to pull away in mild diffidence, but Hughes' teeth at the lobe of his ear stop him short, soon followed by the tip of his tongue.

Roy's hands find Hughes' shoulders to grip them, his knees growing less trustworthy by the second. " _Hughes_ . . ."

"That a 'yes?'" murmurs his tormenter, and Roy pushes him roughly, though only far enough to reach for his clothing.

They are as expert at removing their complex attire as they are at disassembling firearms, and with the same deft swiftness, Roy finds himself pushed back onto the bed with nothing to separate them. Hughes reaches for the hat Roy had thrown there, but rather than tossing it to the chair, Hughes places it on Roy's head.

"Don't be ridiculous." Roy reaches up to remove it, but Hughes covers his hand to still him. The steel of Amestris' shield is cool against his warming fingertips.

"Indulge me, colonel," Hughes murmurs, his voice a persuasive purr. He tips his head under the brim of the hat to reach Roy's lips, and within a heartbeat Roy has forgotten it.

 

5

It's after midnight when Roy finds Hughes alone on the tiny balcony of the apartment he won't need for much longer. The party was small, and relatively tame enough that clean-up doesn't have to wait until morning. At 24, they've outgrown pushing their limits.

"Need help in there?"

Roy shakes his head as he joins his friend at the railing. "Finished." Truth be told, he put off having this talk until there was nothing else within reason to do. But there's no hope of postponing it further. The bridge must be crossed, and Roy knows its mettle on the very first step.

"Roy, I don't think I--"

"You will do this."

Hughes stops, but he makes no argument, and Roy knows he doesn't really want to. He wants to be pushed by the man who'd rather pull. "You don't think you can, but you will," he repeats. "And by tomorrow night, you'll have made the right decision."

"How can you say that?" Hughes lifts his head from where he leans, elbows to the railing.

Roy frowns, then pulls his gaze to the horizon instead. A few windows in the distant buildings are still lit. "You love her, don't you?"

"I love her," Hughes affirms, and the quickness of his response is necessarily painful. "I love her every bit as much as--"

Roy's eyes return to his friend as he pauses, having more difficulty with his words than Roy's ever seen.

"Every damn bit as much," he continues, "in however many ways I can measure it." He swallows, and Roy must do the same. "I can't make this decision. I don't want to!"

"You have to." Roy's voice is quieter than intended, but it is steady. Though young, he is already a master of deadening even the slightest emotion. "This is everything you've wanted since I met you, and you'll never be happy if you don't marry her tomorrow."

He watches as Hughes pulls off his glasses and presses his forearm to his eyes. His other arm reaches for him, and Roy doesn't have the strength to pull away when he tugs him into a hard embrace.

Roy can feel the coarseness of his chin against his neck. He can feel the heat of his shaky breaths and the eventual wetness. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest.

"Isn't this killing you, Roy?"

He swallows as he returns the embrace, just as fervent in its own way. He wants to say it isn't, that it'll pass, that he'll recover, but he can't force the lie, no matter how protective, no matter how right.

"Yeah."

Hughes only clings more tightly, and Roy focuses with all his might on the world beyond the railing, on its houses and its windows and the lives of people who are never in danger of losing themselves. Roy has been through worse, Roy has held his breath far longer, but it doesn't feel like it now.

"I can't choose," Hughes finally whispers, and though it is as quiet as the night Roy is struggling to hear, it is resolute, it is a decision unto itself.

Roy's mind is blank. He has the strength nor the will to change course. Their downward momentum is unalterable.

"All right."

 

4

The desert sun finally disappears behind the flap of the tent when Roy, looking older than just 23, returns to it. In less than an hour it will disappear completely for the night, leaving the scorching, biting sands to grow cold in the dry freeze. They have to sleep close to survive.

Roy doesn't bother to remove his hat or the cloak that protects him from the stinging desert winds. He turns at the far wall of the tent and sits on the hard ground, shedding sand as he meets it.

It is no wonder that the people of Ishbal worship their god with such obstinate loyalty to have flourished in such a place. It is no wonder that they have continued to reject the godless influence of Amestris for eight years. But one must wonder that it has come to this.

"How goes it?"

For a moment, Roy doesn't react. Hughes' stubborn mirth always glances off him, too oblique to strike home. But he lifts his head, turning his sand-reddened gaze to the only connection he can make to himself, to his ideals.

"Same as usual, I see," Hughes answers for him.

And by the military's standards, Roy's "usual" is a shining example of the iron hand of Amestris. As a State Alchemist, Roy's potential outstrips the guns and the bombs and the swords of other soldiers: Roy himself is a weapon. He can no longer even guess how many of the charred bodies outside are to his credit, or how many more there will be. The orders keep coming.

Hughes picks up the tin bowls and tin cups with a dull clanking and sets Roy's share on the ground in front of him. With his own weariness he joins him there, picking up what the military considers fit nourishment for their work. Roy watches him eat in silence, his vision losing focus now and again in the dim light of the lantern.

He's startled to feel Hughes' hands at his wrist, no longer toiling with the meal but pulling the gloves from him, the gloves whose friction sparks the fire he controls. He loses one, then the other, and their rough material is replaced with the calloused hands of his best friend.

There's only one office in Amestris that furnishes the power to choose peace over bloodshed. Roy's only way out is to fill it, but to do that--

"You have to play their game, Roy."

Roy's stomach turns at the word. It's no game, and yet he's seen the grins of power, he's heard the laughter from the mouths of his allies. They don't care to stop this.

"How long?"

"As long as it takes. You can't change the outcome here."

Roy stares, eyes stinging from the elements, at their hands. He tightens his grip and tugs Hughes forward, wrapping his arms around him and not caring how much sand is shaken off into his food. The grit is unavoidable; it's in his mouth already, it's on Hughes' tongue as he finds it with his own. It's rough as he swallows it, and rough against his teeth as he holds Hughes' bottom lip a moment before they part.

He lowers his eyes, his breathing somewhat even again. He reaches for the unidentifiable food they managed not to knock over and tries to muster an appetite for it. Hughes is right: he has to endure this if he is to bring anything good from it.

"That a letter from Gracia?" he murmurs, noticing the folded paper on the bed and mimicking Hughes' forced optimism, if just for a minute.

Hughes glances toward the letter before sitting back. "Yeah. She hopes you'll be all right."

Roy laughs shortly.

 

3

"Do you think I'm overdoing it?" Hughes frets, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind Roy.

"If you're going to wear the suit, you have to wear it properly," mumbles Roy, tying his friend's bow tie. "And if you don't stand still and look at me straight, it'll be crooked."

Hughes finally calms just long enough for Roy to straighten it, but as he looks up to find Hughes staring straight at him, as requested, he grows self-conscious and dusts the man's lapels. "How you've lived 22 years without tying your own bow tie, I'll never know."

But the comment does nothing to deter Hughes' steady smile. Roy steps aside and prods the man to look at the mirror instead. "There, you look fine."

"Are you sure?" Hughes scrunches his nose, then stretches out his chin to tug at the uncomfortable collar of his shirt.

"I'm not tying that again! And yes, you look fine."

"Would you date me?"

Roy narrows his eyes, but he can tell from Hughes' grin that it was deliberate. "Incorrigible," he mutters, and he glances away as Hughes steps forward, resting his hands at Roy's sides.

"You almost seem more nervous than I am," Hughes murmurs, his lips at Roy's ear. "Do I look that good?"

"I'll singe your hair off if you're not careful."

Hughes chuckles against his hairline, his hands moving to Roy's back to rock him closer. "And here you told me you'd only use your powers only for good."

"I can make an exception."

"I appreciate the special treatment."

"So tell me how beautiful this Gracia is."

"Gorgeous, Roy. Brown hair, green eyes. And clever. And wonderful. I can't wait for you to meet her, but she seems to be familiar with you already."

"How's that?"

"On our first date she asked me if I was friends with the young State Alchemist Roy Mustang. Seems she saw your picture in the paper after the exam last year. I didn't think the article mentioned me, but I guess it did."

"Small world. But you'd better get going."

Hughes grins and bends to press his mouth to Roy's, squeezing him tightly enough to wrinkle his own suit before he finally releases him. "Wish me luck."

Roy, wheezing faintly, merely waves him out.

 

2

"So let me see how you do it," Hughes urges, turning his chair around in their tiny dorm room and straddling it, arms folded on the back. One would never guess he were a grown man of 21.

Roy looks up from the book he's trying desperately to absorb. "I need to study this first."

"I thought you already took the written exam?"

"I did, but the practical exam could be anything."

"So you should just practice, not study."

Roy glares over the open pages of the heavy book. "Do you want me to fail?"

"No, I want you to make fire."

"I can't _make_ \--" Roy stops, seeing the futility in avoiding it any further. He closes the book and turns to face his friend, pulling on one of his hand-made gloves. "When friction is applied, this material causes a spark which has no effect on air of standard composition. But using the alchemy circle I put on it, I can alter the air's composition to form an avenue of concentrated oxygen along a path of my choosing, which the spark will then ignite."

"And then what?"

"And then . . ." Roy frowns, then peers out of the open window. He collects himself, then snaps his gloved fingers as the next falling leaf drifts past. To his relief, it burns up in a tiny curl of flame and smoke before the remains of its stem spiral to the ground.

Hughes seems as giddy as a child at a circus. "Roy, that's amazing!"

Roy, however, allows himself only the barest smile. "It's all science, Hughes."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Roy shrugs, pulling off the glove and dropping it to the closed book. "Research. I could assist in experimentation. They might not need me at all. But did you know State Alchemists are promoted to major? Automatically? And they get titles."

"What do you think yours will be?"

Roy smirks faintly, remembering to rein himself in. There's no way of knowing what he'll be called on to do tomorrow. His skills and knowledge may not even be relevant to the task. "They only accept one applicant per year, Hughes. I doubt I can compete with researchers twice my age."

Hughes smiles from the back of his chair, then rises to cross the small space. He bends down and slips his hand under Roy's chin before he kisses him, slow and persistent, until Roy stops blushing and responds. He draws back enough to hold his gaze. "You can compete with anyone. I don't care who they are."

Roy watches his face carefully, but he can't detect even the smallest shred of doubt. He bows his head with a half smile, toying with the glove self-consciously. "Thanks, Maes."

 

1

The bricks at his back are cool in the evening shade, but they are hardly a salve to Roy's nerves. At 20 years old, it's been a long time since he did anything he could get in trouble for.

But it's a good feeling. It's a strange feeling. His best friend at the academy is only inches from him in a deserted square in town, far from the prying eyes of teachers, sergeants, and worst of all, fellow cadets. Roy is faintly trembling, though he blames the lack of proper clothing for the hour, and he is glad for it when Hughes presses just a little closer, his heat alone enough to keep Roy against the wall.

It isn't something Roy understands, but when Hughes' expression suddenly turns serious, and he swallows hard as though in resolve, Roy can only pray he doesn't change his mind. He waits for it; he lifts his head from the wall just an inch to encourage him, if not beg him, and when Hughes' mouth finally meets his, he feels like his chest could erupt. He lets the taller man press in against him, and though Roy doesn't know if he should have expected it or not, he lets his tongue into his mouth. He doesn't know if he's being quiet, but he hardly has the thinking power to care. He only knows he's doing something he shouldn't, and it's the most wonderful thing he's ever felt.

A small gasp from down the alleyway breaks them free of each other, and Roy only catches a glimpse of the girl before she disappears, her shoes clicking on the pavement.

"Shit," he mutters, his heart thudding double time now. But Hughes hasn't moved away, and Roy is grateful for that. He isn't as decent now as he was a moment ago.

"Did you see who it was?"

Roy shakes his head. "Just a girl, about our age. Brown hair. Didn't get a good look."

"Then she didn't either. And as long as she wasn't a cadet, I'd say we're fine."

Roy frowns lightly. He supposes Hughes is right, but he's never been able to shrug things off like he does.

"Look, we'll probably never see her again, right?"

Roy studies Hughes' face with a frown, weighing his options and the relevant probabilities, but Hughes' continued proximity makes up his mind. "Right," he murmurs, finally, and he smiles as Hughes draws close again.

 

0


End file.
